The Dance of Wild Hearts
by Theilian
Summary: A little collection of snapshots; a celebration of beauty and darkness and all things vampire.
1. Night Music

Author's Note: _Tanz der Vampire_ belongs to Roman Polanski, Jim Steinman, and the incomparable Michael Kunze. However, the anonymous narrator of one or two of these drabbles (and double drabbles, and possibly one triple, if there is such a thing - I got a little carried away) is mine, all mine … with a little help from a beautiful, brilliant and utterly barmy vampire who emerged from a tomb in shabby finery one winter evening and messed up my life in the best possible way!

_For my beloved Muse, because whenever I start to question, the answer is you._

:Theilian:

**1: Night Music**

In a movement so sudden I almost miss it, someone – something – emerges from the shadows. A piece of the night itself, come impossibly to life.

I see the creature's face, then: white, like a statue, like marble. Like a corpse. Midnight blue eyes are fixed on mine. His long cloak pools around him like liquid darkness.

"Don't be afraid."

The voice is like nothing I've ever heard before; very deep and soft; but there is a hardness to it, a core like iron sheathed in velvet. Every word echoes in my mind like a summons.

I cannot help but answer.

**: : : : :**


	2. Midnight Masquerade

**2: Midnight Masquerade**

They turn their faces toward me like pale winter flowers before a new sun; all of them suddenly still, all of them watching me. I can feel their eyes on me, feel their gaze sweeping the length of my body, feel them feasting on the sight of me standing there frozen in the doorway. I can feel their hunger.

They are beautiful.

Terrifying, yes; but beautiful nevertheless. They wear a bizarre assortment of costumes as though they are lost players from a thousand distant theatres: ragged, patched and torn, most of them; but some are newer, brighter, their velvets still soft, the lace still white.

And the faces ... the faces are indescribable. All pale, all with dark shadows beneath their eyes, some of them with cheekbones practically pushing through the parchment skin ... but beautiful.

And hungry.

They move away to the edges of the room at von Krolock's unspoken command, bowing and curtseying and subdued. They break their silence and cry his name, some in fear, some in longing; and there they wait, some baring their fangs a little, others reaching out with bone-white hands, as though they are drowning and I the only one who can save them.

**: : : : :**


	3. Herbert

**3: Herbert**

The son is nothing like the father. Where von Krolock is stormclouds-at-midnight dark, from his clothing to his iron-grey hair, Herbert's colouring reminds me of winter twilight and week-old snow; he dresses almost entirely in lavender satin, with touches of silver or palest pink. Even his hair is a sort of creamy off-white. He is undeniably handsome - and knows it, too - but terribly affected. Everything he does, every gesture, every flick of his fingers; all done for the benefit of an invisible audience.

He seems to be standing outside himself, watching his own every move.

**: : : : :**


	4. Sarah

**4: Sarah**

I remember red. Red sparkling in her hair, on her dress … blood red against pale skin.

No.

Don't think about it. Don't remember the dazed, stunned look in her eyes, the way she fought back when it was already far beyond too late.

Don't remember the dark loathing on the face of her killer, her saviour. His fangs sinking into her neck. Parading her around the ballroom like a marionette, her movements jerky, her face that of a lost child; somehow disconnected both from the light in which she was dying … and the darkness into which she was being reborn.

**: : : : :**


	5. Blood Tide Rising

**5: Blood Tide Rising**

He tells me that he loves me.

I pretend not to hear.

I can't control this hunger any longer, and I am on him before he even has a chance to blink. He goes sprawling, landing hard with my full weight on his chest, knocking all the air out of his lungs.

I pin him down, hands like talons digging into his arms. He arches his back, tries to buck me off, but I won't be dislodged so easily.

He utters one single, shattering cry as my fangs sink into his neck.

I have just enough awareness left to think _poor lost soul,_ before the blood begins to flow, warm and alive, into my mouth; and everything disappears in a flood of red.

Later – it could be a minute, maybe a lifetime – I come back to my senses. I can feel Death's presence in the air as the body grows ever colder.

I think maybe Death is me.

For this brief moment he is mine, his body, his soul, his very life. He belongs to me, little mortal child, flickering out of existence like a candle.

For this brief moment I love him more than I have ever loved anyone.

**: : : : :**


	6. Alfred

**6: Alfred **

He stands in the snow; a young vampire wearing a ragged green coat, tattered lace at his wrists. His shoulders are hunched, ready to attack.

The girl waits behind him, her eyes alight with the prospect of battle. A wicked smile reveals the fangs that were von Krolock's final gift.

The boy looks ready to kill. His face becomes suddenly ugly as he leans forward, snarling.

I take a step nearer, watch him shift his balance, every muscle taut, a wild thing about to spring. His eyes lock onto mine without flinching. Brave boy.

Unless, perhaps, he _wants_ to die.

**: : : : :**


	7. Children of the Night

**7: Children of the Night**

They sit with me by the fire, the girl's red dress glowing, turning her to living flame. Her companion sprawls at her feet, resting his head against her legs. I can't take my eyes off them, her especially; she's flawless, regal. A perfect picture of what it means to be a vampire – ruthless, heartless, and beautiful.

I can feel the approach of dawn as a growing sluggishness in my limbs; a kind of itch in the blood.

Uneasiness.

The children have told their tale. And so I finally understand what pointless creatures we truly are. I feel extraordinarily tired. Indescribably sad.

And very, very old.

Even our most intense passions, in the end, come to nothing. The desire that Sarah vaguely recalls feeling for von Krolock has faded; become something that happened to a different girl, a whole lifetime ago. She doesn't even know whether he is still alive. Nor does she seem to care.

She looks at me now with eyes that could devour the whole world. She tells me that what she wants is exactly that - to spread the Dark Gift as far and as wide as she can. She wants to poison them all.

She terrifies me.

**: : : : :**


	8. Hunters

**8: Hunters **

"Well?" he enquires, gently.

"It's … " I shake my head, unable to describe it. I turn away from him, gaze out over the forest and the night. An enormous golden-yellow moon hangs above the trees, swollen to an impossible size. It seems close enough to touch if I just ... reach a little higher ... I stretch both arms out as though they are wings, and let myself rise up onto my tiptoes, balancing easily; I fling my head back and close my eyes, and just … feel.

Feel the wind's caress on my skin, in my hair … after a moment or two I begin to realise it isn't just the wind. I can feel the night itself.

I can feel the touch of the darkness.

Like a slow current of velvet it flows around me, gently cradling me in its invisible folds. It wraps itself around me like a lover.

It's too much. Too much sensation, too much pleasure; I cry out as my whole body convulses. I am dimly aware of von Krolock's soft laughter at my side as I take several staggering steps, trying to regain my balance.

Shaking, gasping for breath, finally I understand.

_This_ was what I wanted. This glory, this beauty, this feeling that no mortal will ever be able to know or even imagine. Freedom, endless freedom; unlimited time to feel like this, to stand in the night and feel the darkness moving across my skin …

I turn to von Krolock with a smile so huge it feels as though I'm about to split my face in two. So happy I can't speak.

"Come then, Alfred," the Count says, and he drops an arm around my shoulders, casually; for the first time he seems less intimidating, more like a friend. Like an equal. "Let us hunt."

**: : : : :**


End file.
